Abandonment
by Natalie3
Summary: Lionel visits his son to have a 'meaningful conversation.'
1. Default Chapter

This story actually focus's on Lionel more than anyone else, but Lex plays a pretty big role.  
  
Neither of them belongs to me. Life is harsh. This story is for entertainment purposes only. Please don't sue me, all I can give you is the laundry lint in my pocket.  
  
  
  
  
  
Abandonment  
  
  
  
Lionel's hands trembled only slightly when he found the sketchpad with her name on it. They were steady by the time he had flipped through the first few pages. She had definitely only been an amateur artist. She never could have made it as a professional. He was enough of an expert to recognize that. Still, there was a certain feel to her work that he liked...though then again he could hardly be objective.  
  
He flipped to another page, and nearly dropped the book. A child's sleeping face was still and peaceful on the page. Dark hair spilled around his closed eyes. The picture was done with charcoal, but he knew that the boy's hair was red, or at least that it had been when this picture was drawn.  
  
The title had been drawn in swirling letters at the bottom of the page: Sleep of the Innocent. But even so the title was hardly apt. Already the beginnings of crow's feet showed at the outer edge of the child's eyes. His face had developed that perpetual scowl that almost all adults have when they let their faces relax. Already, his soul was beginning to fade.  
  
And he knew that now, it would never return. This picture must be nearly fifteen years old now. He replaced the sketchbook in the drawer, making a mental note to have it destroyed later, and headed out to the car. He could call for Marcel to drive him, but he decided to drive himself. Perhaps it was a bit of nostalgia dredged up because of the sketchpad, but he didn't really want to talk to anyone. Besides, it was nearly eleven at night, and it would have taken too long for Marcel to get up, get dressed, and come out and meet him.  
  
Slowly the scenery around him changed from that of the city to that of the countryside as he drove towards Smallville. It should have been relaxing, but he found himself searching for the bright lights of Metropolis. The country was seemed caught in a perpetual dusk, especially on a cloudy night like this when even the moon and stars were obscured.  
  
He parked the car and climbed the steps. He considered knocking, but changed his mind and just unlocked the door himself. Quick, quiet steps took him to his son's bedroom, but when he opened the door, the room was empty, and the bed obviously had not been slept in. A deeper frown took his face. Where could he be...? Then he knew. In moments he was pushing open the door to his son's study.  
  
The young man was typing on a computer, his face intent. For a moment, he didn't seem to have noticed to other man's entrance, then something seemed to alert him to the presence of another. He looked up. "Dad?" He was so close to succeeding in not sounding surprised. Lionel almost wanted to congratulate him. Almost.  
  
"Have you completed the reports yet?" His voice came out harsh. Well, that was the best way for things to be. His son would never be tormented with the sort of sickness that would fill your throat and set fire to your eyes. He had seen to that, at least.  
  
"I finished them this morning." And the boy's eyes were guarded now, searching, trying to find where his father would strike next so he could defend himself against it.  
  
Lionel found himself pacing across the room. "It's her birthday, you know," he said briefly.  
  
"I know," his son replied. The answer came too fast, too abrupt. They both felt it.   
  
Lionel leaned against the desk feeling suddenly old. He took a deep breath. "I know I've been hard on you, Lex. But, it's like," he searched his mind for a suitable metaphor. "Like the story of Achilles. His body was plunged into the Styx River to burn his mortality away."  
  
"Didn't he end up being shot through the heel with a poisoned arrow, thereby dying a painful and ignoble death?" Lex asked dryly.  
  
His father smiled grimly. "Yes, because when his mother dipped him in the water, she gripped him by his heel, so that part stayed mortal. It was through his mother's hand that he was destroyed."  
  
Lex made no response. His eyes were focused on the surface of his desk, as though the random scratches there could be made by mere effort of will, to rearrange themselves into something meaningful. Perhaps the answers to all of Life's greatest questions could be discovered in the dents and grooves on Lex's desk. At least, that was what the boy's intense concentration suggested. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, as always.  
  
"Lex, son, I didn't dare make that mistake with you. I would leave no part of you vulnerable, even through love."  
  
At this Lex laughed. "But you'll remember why she gripped him so tightly, I hope, Dad? She didn't want to chance letting him go, risk killing him with that kind of carelessness. The river of death is said to have a strong current." His tone was cold, almost sarcastic. It couldn't be told if he was serious and making light of it, or just toying with the idea.  
  
It was clear what he was driving at. "Are you suggesting that I would have let you drown?" Lionel said, keeping his own voice warm and amused.  
  
His son only shrugged. "You brought up the metaphor, Dad." He turned away, silently dismissing his father.  
  
"She's the one who left you, Lex. Not me." He spoke very quietly.  
  
Lex gave no sign of hearing him, but Lionel knew the words had penetrated him.  
  
He left the room without another word, and paused in the corridor just long enough to hear the soft rush of air that followed his departure. It was a quick, almost silent sob, and the closest thing he would get to confirmation that Lex still knew how to cry.  
  
When he got outside, he discovered that it had started raining. He climbed into the car and began to drive away, trying to shake the sudden feeling of isolation. Everything was so gloomy, and the sound of water pounded on his ears.  
  
Was this how Achilles had felt? Surrounded by cold, by dark, with only the rushing water for company. Had he feared that his tenuous lifeline might slip away, leaving him caught in this lifeless, lightless void?  
  
Stop this, Lionel admonished himself. He twisted the knob that controlled the radio, and settled quietly to hear the late evening news. The car rushed though the slick streets as he returned to a city humming with shining lights and almost palatable life.  
  
Leaving his son behind him in the cold and gloom to face his living burial, alone.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Okay, did you like? Did you hate? Is Lionel a TOTAL bastard, or what? Reviews make me happy! Constructive criticism is good too. Flames will be used for s'mores. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine. Boo hoo. The myths aren't mine either, but I'm guessing that they're in the public domain. :-)  
  
  
  
  
Abandonment  
  
"She's the one who left you, Lex. Not me."  
  
Which he knew was really complete bullshit if he could just slow his thoughts down long enough to think about it. On a very literal level, yes, his mother had died, 'left him' and his father had not. But in any and every other way that a human being could possibly be abandoned, Lionel alone stood accountable.  
  
Lex ran his thumb along the edge of his desk and considered getting out some of the scotch he had been saving, then decided against it. This little 'chat' could have been a lot worse. He could have brought up Alexander the Great, again, or the familiar Julius Caesar. Myths weren't necessarily preferable, but he could see why Lionel might choose to draw out seemingly random metaphors from them. The stories lent themselves to that sort of manipulation.  
  
It could have been worse. He might have chosen the story of Phaeton and his unfortunate use of the sun-chariot. That wouldn't have been quite appropriate though; Phaeton had used emotional blackmail to force his father into letting him use the chariot.   
  
Lionel wouldn't have wanted to ever use the image of a son triumphing over a father, even if he could have used the ending of the tale for a good moral. Phaeton had been rash, and not nearly strong enough to take on his father's role. In the end, his hubris nearly left the earth a raw and lifeless rock. Only a quick bit of action with lightning bolts on Zeus' part saved the day, though of course it did turn Phaeton into nothing more than a chunk of well-done steak.  
  
Lex reconsidered the scotch, as he thought of one more myth that stood out from his childhood. Pamela had read him almost all of the old Greek and Roman legends, editing them quite a lot, as he found later. She had seemed to especially like the one about Daedalus, the amazing inventor who couldn't be held by any prison. When one king tried, he crafted a pair of wings for himself and his son, Icarus. They had flown away together, out across the sea. Daedalus warned his son to be wary of flying too high; the wings were held together only by wax and prayers. The sun would decimate them in no time, and the sea was the only thing that would catch a falling fool.  
  
There, caught between a pitiless sun and a merciless sea, Icarus had disobeyed his father, and had soared, freer than any man alive, but at his peril. The fine line between daring and foolhardy was crossed before he knew it, and only his helpless father was there to hear him scream when he slid beneath the waves.  
  
Daedalus had been unable to save his child.  
  
Lionel just didn't really want to.  
  
Lex clenched his fingers up into tight fists and gripped them until it hurt and his knuckles began to sting, then he relaxed his hands and exhaled, willing away the anger that seemed to fill his chest, and a make it so hard for him to breathe.  
  
He remembered the ending, the ending that Pamela had never told him. After landing, Daedalus had built a temple to Apollo and had dedicated his invention of the wings to the god in thanks for his safety. He had carved out the story of his adventure, including the part his son had played, but when he had tried to etch Icarus' face, his hands had shaken too badly, and he couldn't complete the engraving. The father's love and grief prevented him from completing the memorial to his lost son.  
  
And just how stupid and pathetic was it to be envying a person in a myth, a person who had never existed, and who died midway through the story anyway? But he had been loved, really and truly loved, by his father. Lex sighed. All this self-pity was enough to make him want to hurl, even without any alcohol.  
He had envied Icarus as a child too, but that had been because he had been able to fly, for however brief a time.  
Lex froze.  
  
He had flown too, now. When he had used the bridge in a way it had never been intended, when the car had plummeted into the river, he had closed his eyes flown. The world looked so strange and so bright and so small, as though you could hold a tiny piece of it in the palm of your hand, but no matter how far away you went, there was no way you could never hold it all in the scope of your vision. He had found it overwhelming and comforting at once.  
  
And then he had been saved. He had been given the chance Icarus was never granted. He could learn from his mistake. His life hadn't ended, it had only begun.  
  
So why was he wondering if his father would have been willing to even try to save him? It was a question that he would never actually know the answer too, but he could lay a pretty good bet on it that the answer was no. Lionel wouldn't lift a finger unless he saw some gain in it for himself. Keeping his son alive had a certain amount of value to it, but if the scales didn't balance, it didn't pay to hold your breath. He would let you drown.  
  
Lex looked at the clock and was startled to find that it wasn't even two yet. He felt as though years had passed. It probably just meant he was tired, that was all. The sound of rain rattling the windows was almost soothing. This castle had stood through a thousand storms, and it would weather this one as well. There really wasn't a whole lot dealing with the chaotic and frantic world. All you had to, was to be made of stone, and never, never care.  
  
Finis 


End file.
